GARRISON

The tower above most with a functioning stethoscope

‘We never left’ royal choke hold

Hourly gongs to cast off the frankness of ‘what is’

We are always a breath away

The sound to heed

Arms calmly stretched across oceans

Eyes intensely focused on ‘still is’

Every chime a chilling draught of ‘we are’

Blueprints and folders

Maps to dug in desires

Footprints on the sand

Handprints on walls

In caskets of said ‘superior’ generals

Copies in the pillars of ‘its origin

Inhouse mentors and outreach of high-end spinning tops

Manufactured and cleverly branded

Moon-cursers in waterways and underground tunnels

The country’ veins faintly exposed from

Injected dyes and unexpected x-rays

Poverty in plain view

Excavated on firm allegiance

With assurance benefits

For whom the bell tolls